MARCH 1-5
781 Words
There was no way to apologize. No way to say how sorry he was. He considered flying back to the city, but to what end? He didn’t want New York any more than Melanie wanted a sailboat. He wrote her a long letter, doing his damnedest to explain what had happened and how much of an i***t he’d been. Then threw himself into fixing the boat.
He skipped the Ides of March party. Stabbing his lover in the back was a moment he’d rather not remember. It was three weeks since he’d punched Angelo and he was still trying to finish the head. He lay on his right side next to the toilet trying to cut the fiberglass cloth to wrap properly around the base for the shower floor. Nutcase was perched on his left shoulder watching everything he did, insisting on sniffing each tool he picked up to certify it as inedible.
The boat shifted as someone came aboard, but he sure wasn’t crawling out from under when he was this close to done.
Nutcase launched toward the entry leaving permanent claw marks burning on his upper arm. Her bright meow signaled that she knew whoever it was.
“Come on in,” he shouted loud enough to be heard which made his ears ring in the enclosed space.
“Thanks.”
“Angelo.” Russell swung upright and banged his head sharply on the counter for the small sink he’d installed. Which he shouldn’t have done until he’d finished the floor.
“Crap.” He crawled out into the companionway.
“You avoiding me, buddy?” Angelo looked some kind of pissed.
“No.” He rubbed where he’d banged his head. “Avoiding myself more like.”
Angelo mellowed instantly. “Well, I’d avoid you too if I had the choice.”
“Shithead.”
“Back at you.”
Angelo tossed a couple of white, folded-paper containers on the table. “You eat anything better than crap since I last saw you?”
“No, mother.” Then he smelled the food as Angelo started popping lids. He snagged a couple of Cokes and some forks.
He took a forkful of Egg Foo Yung right out of the box. Pork. It burned the roof of his mouth and tasted wonderful.
Angelo pointed at the various containers. “Shrimp Chow Mien, Twice-Cooked Beef with Snow Peas, Fried Rice, and I sat on the fortune cookies. Sorry about that.”
Russell stabbed a shrimp for the cat. “Forgiven.”
Nutcase took her piece of shrimp and they ate in silence for a bit, at least until the worst of his hunger was gone.
“So, what are you gonna do?”
“You won’t leave it alone.”
“I’m Italian. Sue me.”
Russell shrugged. “Can’t do squat. I’ve thought about it a lot, but I’m so done with New York and all that. If I never go there again, it won’t break my heart. And Melanie sure isn’t one to go cruising.”
“And…” Angelo waved his fork over the chow mien for him to continue.
“You s**t. You are Italian.” He took a deep breath and felt about half as strong when he let it out. “And whatever I feel for her, which is a lot, it isn’t what she feels for me. So, I’m a total heel, like she wasn’t good enough for me or something, which isn’t true. It’s just not there. And she doesn’t deserve that, whether she wants it or not.”
Angelo offered another shrimp to Nutcase who took it with all the daintiness of a six-inch-tall savannah lion.
“You ain’t so dumb after all, buddy.”
“Worse,” Russell rubbed his hand over his face. “But I’ll get over it.”
“And who should come to your rescue, once again I might add, but the wonderful, magnificent, handsome Angelo.”
“And world class shithead.”
Angelo aimed a forkful of snow peas at him. “Keep that up and I won’t be helping you.”
“Helping me how?”
“Tuesday, April fourth, six days from now, you are having dinner at my place at seven o’clock. And you are going to be on your very best behavior.”
“This is my best behavior.” He brushed all of Nutcase’s fur backwards to prove his point, not that you could really tell the difference on the little fluff ball. She batted at him but was assuaged with a scrap of beef.
“Christ Almighty you really are sad. You screw this up and I really will stop talking to you. Just be there. And dress in clean clothes.”
“Why, what’s up?” Russell dug the last piece of Egg Foo Yung out of the container and ate it with relish. But didn’t have time to swallow it.
“You have a blind date.”
Russell choked on his last bite and it was several minutes before he could stop gagging and coughing.
Slip Point Lighthouse
Clallam Bay
First lit: 1905
Automated: 1977
48.2645 -124.251
Clallam Bay is a small fishing village located halfway between the Cape Flattery and the Ediz Hook lighthouses. Named for a distinctive landslip on the face of the point’s rocky bluff, the U.S. Congress appropriated $12,500 dollars in 1900 to build the lighthouse, fog signal, and the keeper’s dwelling.
The dwelling was well back from the point. A long, elevated catwalk of wood plank was installed along the face of the cliff permitting the keeper to walk just above the waves’ fury.
- Writer
